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“Ugh, tell me about it. If Miss Claire points out my weak ankles one more time, I’m going to jump out the window,” Tasha groaned.
“If your ankles will let you,” Vika joked.
Tasha pretended to whack her with a pointe shoe, and they all laughed. Annika smiled at them, but as soon as she arrived, the other girls abruptly stopped talking. The three of them looked at each other and back at Annika in silent conference.
It was odd, but she didn’t think much of it. Throughout Annika’s life, she had grown rather accustomed to whispers all around her. People were always being secretive, closing her out of conversations. At this point, she no longer took it personally. She dropped down onto one of the armchairs and began tugging her hair free of its bun.
“Have you guys watched the recording from our last recital yet? I was nervous about that second movement with all thefouettes, but it looks way better on video than it felt in person,” Annika rambled happily.
“No, not yet,” said Mariya in a tight voice.
“Haven’t had the chance,” agreed Vika.
“Oh, you should totally check it out. I know it’s just a silly performance for the community, but we still look pretty damn professional out there onstage,” Annika went on.
“I bet,” said Tasha unconvincingly.
“It’s crazy to think that one day we’ll be performing for the whole world to see,” raven-haired Annika said with a grin. She leaned back in the armchair with a wistful look in her green eyes and added, “Better late than never, right?”
She hadn’t intended for it to be a serious question, but to her surprise, all three girls exchanged worried expressions. Annika rushed to soften her words, thinking she might have offended her friends. “Not that we’re behind or anything. I mean, I’m only nineteen. Tasha, you’re barely eighteen. We have plenty of time to follow our dreams. New York City may be the city that never sleeps, but it’s not going anywhere.”
The girls seemed even more on edge. They shifted uncomfortably, still stealing concerned glances at one another. Mariya gently ventured, “So, you’re still planning to enroll in the fall semester?”
Annika nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah, of course. I can’t wait!”
“Your parents are cool with it?” Vika asked, sounding incredulous.
“Definitely! I mean, I would’ve loved to enroll last year after graduation. But my parents talked me into a gap year. More time to practice, more time to weigh my options. There are lots of things to consider when you’re about to move across the country,” she replied.
“But what about… everything going on here?” Tasha questioned. Vika elbowed her, and Mariya shot her a wide-eyed, terse-lipped glare.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ll miss you guys. I’ll miss my parents too, I guess. But I’m so ready to spread my wings and fly! Vegas is cool and all, but New York is where I’m meant to be. That’s always been the plan. Hell, I can’t imagine doing anything else. Ballet is, like, everything. You know?” Annika gushed.
“For sure,” said Mariya.
“Uh-huh,” said Vika.
“Ballet is life,” said Tasha awkwardly.
Annika giggled and shook her head at them. “What is going on with you guys today? Why is everyone acting so weird?” she asked playfully.
All three girls shot a worried glance at Miss Claire, who was watching them like a hawk. Annika’s smile faded as she noticed how truly uncomfortable the girls were. They didn’t usually act like this. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were hiding something from her. But what could they possibly have to hide? As far as Annika was concerned, they were all on the same page. They were all sheltered, homeschooled young women whose parents worked together. Annika had never been totally sure what their parents did, exactly, but again… secrecy was normal for her world. She had learned a long time ago that it was pointless to ask questions. The adults in her circle were elusive and vague about their business endeavors.
Still, her fellow dancers were the closest thing to a friend group Annika had ever had, and it felt awful being iced out like this. Whatever they were being secretive about, it had something to do with her. She was about to ask them, again, more seriously, what was going on, when she was interrupted by a series of familiar, loud clinking noises.
It was the telltale sound of multiple locks disengaging as the studio door creaked open, and a large, imposing man loomed in the doorway. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a navy-blue suit and expensive alligator-leather shoes. The dark hair on his head was thinning, receding from his high forehead. But his eyebrows were thick and bristly to match his mustache. His beady black eyes rolled from Miss Claire to each of the young women. His gaze lingered on their nubile bodies, drinking in the way they filled out their leotards. He undressed them with his eyes, and it didn’t go unnoticed. The girls had stiffened the moment he’d appeared, and they began to self-consciously pull their sweatshirts and yoga pants on over their ballet ensembles, like they couldn’t bear to show an inch of bare flesh in his presence. Far from caring about their discomfort, the man only leered at them lasciviously, almost like he enjoyed making them feel that way.
He slowly sauntered into the room and greeted them with a cordial, “Hello, girls.”
“Hello, Mr. Baranov,” the girls replied in soft unison.
None of them could meet his eyes. They hurried to put their stuff away and leave, in a rush to get to their chauffeurs downstairs. Miss Claire followed after them and shut the door. Not one of them said goodbye to Annika, who was left sitting in the empty studio as her father took the armchair beside her.
“Stand up,” he demanded.
She obeyed. He looked her over with a keen eye. Annika began to sweat a little, hoping her father wouldn’t find anything to criticize this time. Or worse, something to compliment. And yet, she also longed for his approval. He looked at her for so long without saying anything that finally she spoke up.
“Dad… everyone keeps looking at me like I’m crazy,” Annika admitted.
